Insomnia
by Tea55
Summary: Dean can't sleep. Dean/Castiel, oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **Not mine, Kripke's.

**Summary: **Dean can't sleep.

**Rating: M**

**INSOMNIA **

The first thing Dean learns about the apocalypse is that it's a process. The world doesn't disappear in a cloud of smoke after Lucifer's grand entrance.

No, it happens slowly, a battle after a battle, and after a year of winning and losing, killing and bleeding, Dean starts to lose sleep.

Just like with the apocalypse, it happens slowly, without him noticing it. First, they have no time to sleep. They are too busy dodging demons and angels, and sleep is a luxury he and Sam, even their resident guardian angel can't afford. Even though Castiel insists how he doesn't require sleep.

Then, after Zachariah's messy execution, and Dean really appreciates the way Heaven decided to say "oops, our bad", they only have Hell to deal with, but by then the world is already burning and people are dying by hundreds each day, and Dean's dreams offer no peace and rest. They're only an echo of the atrocities he sees every day.

Castiel starts to look at him with a weary expression after Dean's five hours of sleep turn into three that turn into one, Dean's body running on adrenaline and a potent mixture of anger, guilt and stubbornness, but he doesn't offer his help. Nor does he say anything. Sam, well, Sam's too busy with holding himself together to notice anything outside his very own self-made hell.

Three days ago, Dean has stopped sleeping altogether. The first two days he wasn't worried, but after the faces around him began to change into bizarre grimaces, the colors becoming sharp and almost too bright, Dean starts to think how this no sleep policy just might cost him his sanity.

So he tries to sleep. He goes to his room in a house they're occupying this week, and tries. He fails, though.

After three hours of tossing and turning, and whoever said that counting fucking sheep helps is a big fat liar, Dean decides to admit defeat, which ends with him roaming the house, feeling antsy and hyper, and that's what frustrates him the most. He feels like he has ants crawling across his skin, making his skin itch and his body shiver and shake, and he fucking_ needs_. He has no clue what, just that he does. Something. _Anything._

Dean doesn't know what makes him enter Castiel's room, but he's already inside, leaning against the closed door after he realizes he even thought of coming here.

"Cas?" He whispers, but there's no reply.

There's no reply because Castiel is sleeping. Lying on his back in the middle of a bed, his eyes closed shut, his breath even, and Dean's mind is suddenly too loud, asking things of him, things like _leave the fuck now_, or demanding answers to stupid questions like _why is Castiel even_ _sleeping_.

The noise in his mind rises and rises until it explodes, and then there is nothing, just that strange need that courses through Dean's body. The need that suddenly starts taking shape and Dean really sees nothing wrong with taking a look of Castiel's sleeping face.

But he can't make out Castiel's features from this distance so he takes a step closer, and then another, and then he's standing right next to Castiel's bed.

Castiel looks…_ strange_. Dean's mind suggests the term beautiful, but he still hasn't gone over the deep end, so there's no way in hell he'll even think the words _beautiful _and_ Castiel_ in relation to one another. But yeah, strange, he definitely looks strange, maybe it's because Dean has never seen Castiel look relaxed or at peace. In the beginning, there was always that detached and bemused quality to him, even when he'd first admitted to having doubts, then there was guilt and hurt and so much more.

Lately, though, Castiel simply looked tired. It never showed in the way he fought, or the way he tried, even now, to protect Dean from what was going on in the world. But it was gone now, like someone had smoothed over the hard lines of Castiel's face, taking away resignation and weariness, leaving his face strangely naked, looking almost vulnerable. Angelic in a way that has nothing with being a badass soldier of the Lord and everything with innocence and purity.

Dean sucks in a sharp breath and his entire body shudders when he realizes something. He doesn't want to just look at Castiel anymore. He needs to touch.

Dean hears it, the panicked voice of his conscience screaming at him, but the words _angel _and _wrong_ and _male_ make no difference now. Not when he's already sitting on the bed next to Castiel, his shaking fingers hesitating only a fraction of a second before touching the skin of Castiel's forehead.

Castiel's skin feels perfectly normal, warm with a faintest trace of sweat, not that Dean expected anything else. But still, even this soft touch sends a jolt of warmth through Dean's body and straight to his dick. Castiel remains still under Dean's touch, his breath even, and when his fingers start sliding down the ridge of Castiel's nose, tracing the outline of Castiel's eyelashes, Dean becomes aware where this is going.

His mind, or what's left of it, says Hell, his throbbing dick has another destination in mind. And Dean, well, Dean already knows how some things are worth going to Hell.

Dean stops his exploration of Castiel's face when his fingers reach the angel's lips. He traces their outline, his fingers lingering briefly on his bottom lip. A shiver runs down Dean's spine when he feels Castiel's hot breath on his fingers, and right now, Dean would give away his soul if he could have Castiel part his lips and take his finger into his mouth.

It almost hurts to move his hand, but Dean feels like he's burning up, like he's sitting near the freaking live volcano. His mind is hazy now, insomnia and lust erasing even that last voice of reason that reminds him how wrong this is, how he's going to get his ass kicked when Castiel wakes, how Castiel doesn't deserve this.

Dean knows all this; he just can't bring himself to care. And really, since his return from Hell, nothing felt so fucking right. Like it was meant to be. Reason and morality be damned.

Dean takes off his shirt. He does it slowly, one button after another. He'd like to think it's because he wants to make it possible for Castiel to wake up, to stop him before he really does something unforgivable, but he knows it would be a lie. He does it slowly because his fucking fingers are shaking, making this simple action seem like climbing freaking Mt. Everest.

When he's finished, he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. They say when you're drunk, you tend to tell the truth, well, it seems that when you haven't slept for three days, and you're about to violate an angel of the Lord, epiphanies happen. Life altering epiphanies. Epiphanies that include the words love and forever.

And it's funny, really it is, and it almost makes him laugh, his little revelation of how much he's come to care for Castiel. How much he needs him in his life. How he's about to fuck everything up. He doesn't laugh, though; he only lowers his head, planting a soft kiss on Castiel's lips, his way of saying sorry, before moving his head down, kissing and licking his way down his jaw and his neck.

Dean stops his progress when he reaches the collar of Castiel's shirt. He stays still one long moment, his forehead leaning against Castiel's shoulder, his breath erratic and heavy against Castiel's body, aware that this should be enough to wake Castiel. Only, it's not. Castiel stays asleep, not moving a muscle, and Dean takes it as an invitation.

When he starts unbuttoning Castiel's shirt, his fingers are steady because he's not stopping now. Not until God strikes him down or Castiel does it himself. But he is _not_ stopping.

When he's done, Dean only stares at Castiel's bare chest for one long moment. Pale and lean, and Dean can't decide whether the faint silvery glow reflecting off his skin is the trick of moonlight or an echo of Castiel's true nature.

Whatever it is, Dean can't taste it when he licks a wet trail from Castiel's neck down to his right nipple. He knows Castiel should be awake right now, there's no way in hell anyone could oversleep this, especially someone who supposedly doesn't require sleep, but the chest under Dean's lips continues rising and falling in even rhythm, and the thought of Castiel pretending to sleep, stops his heart for one moment.

He lifts his head, throwing a wide-eyed glance at Castiel's face, but Castiel's face still looks as peaceful and relaxed as it did when Dean first entered this room and lost his mind somewhere between the door and this bed.

But what if Castiel is faking it? What if he knows what Dean is doing and he's simply letting him use him? And Castiel would do it, Dean knows it, even in this state of arousal, with his mind already half-insane from the lack of sleep, Dean knows enough to realize how Castiel wouldn't so much as fucking blink before offering him his body if he thought it would help Dean. After all, he'd already risked his life and all that he is when he'd turned against his kind for Dean's sake.

The saddest part, though? Dean still can't bring himself to stop. Oh yeah, the guilt is here, and shame and fucking regret, but that's still not enough to make him leave this room.

So if Dean is too weak to stop himself from ruining one of the few good things in his life, he'll do his best to make Castiel stop him. Make Castiel save him. This time from himself.

Moving closer to Castiel, Dean doesn't bother with trying to be quiet or keeping his touches feather light. This time when he kisses Castiel, he makes it count. He sucks on Castiel's lower lip then nips it, but Castiel doesn't move. He doesn't move when Dean drags his lips downwards, alternately licking and sucking his way down to Castiel's collarbone, leaving tiny marks along the way. Castiel stays still even when Dean bites down on his collarbone, almost hard enough to draw blood.

Dean stops his exploration of Castiel's body, suddenly aware how close to coming he is. He lies still, wanting to unzip his jeans but afraid that even the smallest touch could bring him over the edge, and he wants this to last. So he stays still, his head nestled in the crook of Castiel's shoulder, trying to think of something seriously gross, but even the thought of Sam and Ruby together is overridden by the warmth of Castiel's skin, by his smell – soap and sweat mixing into a heady fragrance which makes Dean feel dizzy, and Hell or no, he really, really wants to fuck Castiel now.

Taking another glance of Castiel's face, Dean frowns when he sees something flicker over it, but it disappears a quickly as it came, leaving Castiel's face as calm as ever.

Smiling softly, Dean runs his fingers through Castiel's hair. This would be so much easier if Castiel wasn't an angel. And really, why didn't he have enough sense to posses some chick? Although, and it scares the hell out of him, if Cas wasn't Cas, Dean probably wouldn't be here. It doesn't matter what he is, or in whom, Dean wants Castiel. Stubborn, humorless, aloof, clueless, self-righteous flying freak who just happens to put Dean before all else.

Dean allows himself another chaste kiss on Castiel's lips, before he continues where he left off, flicking Castiel's nipple with his tongue before grazing it with his teeth, and now he's sure he feels a change in the body against his own, a soft, barely perceptible moan coming from above him followed by the change in Castiel's breathing.

Feeling his heart sink in his chest, Dean pauses in his ministrations, waiting for the inevitable, but it doesn't come. Not even when his hand trails over Castiel's stomach and lower, pausing at the waistband of Castiel's trousers.

"I know you're awake, Cas," Dean whispers, his words a hot breath against Castiel's naked chest. "Tell me to stop and I will."

Castiel doesn't say a word, nor does he try to move, and Dean doesn't know what to feel about it. "Dammit, Cas, tell me to stop," Dean whispers, more desperate this time, and Castiel's only response is the change in his breathing. It becomes steady again, and Dean isn't surprised that when he looks up, he sees the same sight he now has memorized. Castiel's face relaxed in sleep.

Dean grins and shakes his head. "Kinky angel, aren't you Cas?"

Dean doesn't waste time anymore; he makes a quick work of Castiel's belt and zipper, not surprised when his hand closes around Castiel's hard dick. He strokes it slowly at first, spreading the precome along its length, scraping the tip with his nail on every downward stroke, frowning when Castiel still stays still and relaxed, well, one part of him excluded.

Then a realization hits, and Dean feels his heart crack in his chest a little. Castiel is giving him a way out. He's going to pretend he was asleep the entire time, and let Dean get away with doing this. Let Dean pretend it never happened.

And Dean really has to give Castiel a credit. He stays perfectly still as Dean speeds his strokes, he doesn't make a move when Dean licks a trail down his stomach, he even stays still when Dean closes his lips over the tip of his dick, then licks a trail along its underside, Castiel doesn't react even when Dean swallows him whole.

And then this game stops being fun, because Dean wants more than this. He wants to hear Castiel's moan and whimper, he wants to feel his body shudder and writhe, and he wants to see him when he comes.

With one last lick, Dean abandons Castiel's dick, crawling over Castiel's body. "You win, Cas, okay," he whispers in Castiel's ear, his teeth scraping his earlobe. "I don't want to pretend."

"As you wish," Castiel whispers hoarsely, and then everything happens all at once, and Dean doesn't have a chance to react, just feel.

Feel Castiel's weight pressing him down against the bed as he shifts their positions, feel Castel hands stroke him through the fabric of his jeans, then close around him, feel heat build in his stomach with ever sure and hard stroke of Castiel's hand, ripping an orgasm out of him which leaves him seeing white for a moment.

When he comes down from the force of his orgasm, Dean suddenly feels tired, body, mind and soul, but he doesn't feel regret, not when Castiel looks at him with an expression of tenderness and warmth and something that must be love, but Dean isn't sure because no one has ever looked at him this way.

"What now?" Dean asks, because that's important. It's important to know what the fuck they're going to do after this. Because the things are different now, and Dean has no clue what to do about it.

But Castiel simply smiles, placing a light kiss on Dean's forehead. "Now you sleep, Dean," he whispers softly. "And rest."

And Dean does.


End file.
